Vis Vires
by Blood Red Tulips
Summary: You could not call him capable of love - No. But you could call Tom Riddle capable of fascination, capable of obsession - and that is what a young witch did to him - so much so, that he named his dearest possession after her.
1. Chapter 1

**Vis Vires **  
**by Blood Red Tulips **

* * *

And since the quarrel  
Will bear no color for the thing he is,  
Fashion it thus: that what he is, augmented,  
Would run to these and these extremities;  
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg,  
Which, hatch'd, would as his kind grow mischievous,  
And kill him in the shell

Brutus

- Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act 2 Scene 1

* * *

_Present – 1995_

_(Malfoy Manor)_

* * *

These were not the halls of a happy home.

No, it wasn't a warm place – it did not give the impression of a family that was relishing in the love they gave one another, but rather the fact, that they continued. That heir after heir was born, and that their beliefs were still there. They might have staggered across the thresholds of their ideas, of their philosophies, of the strict rules that controlled their sort of people, but they had not been truly swayed.

Not after all this time. After many, many years Malfoy Manor still had the grandeur and rigid preservation that a pureblood household should contain. It still possessed the marble stairs, the libraries, the nooks and crannies that spoke of all the secrets that a powerful family could accumulate after such a long time here in Britain.

It hadn't changed since 1941.

It hasn't changed since the day it was built, presumably.

It was the same now – just… different tenants, different house elves… a different purpose.

He had changed that purpose – turned a residence into a base.

The man – but he could hardly be called a man anymore, you see – who sat before a great, flickering fireplace in the Manor's main study – was acutely aware of this. He knew after years, after decades, after collecting his knowledge so carefully, that most things did not change. That you had to change them. You couldn't wait on things, you had to use your power, your knowledge, your own hands if it was needed – to change things to how they ought to be.

This man, or something more than a man, did not seem inclined to do anything more than stare into the flames, as they cast eerie shadows across his face – whiter than the sickening colour of bones. His scarlet eyes seemed to be calculating, always calculating as he watched the fire devour a log. His long, skeletal frame was a far cry from what it used to be, but he didn't care. No – it wasn't about appearances for this man. His long, spidery fingers were clasped, and if a person didn't know him, if it were say, a muggle, watching this man? They might be led to believe he was a grotesque statue.

But it would be the last day in a muggle's life if they should see Lord Voldemort, the statue looming over them. Perhaps they would find it funny when this freakishly serpentine man pointed a stick at them – that is before they started to roll on the ground, vomiting blood, their last thoughts being to how inhuman and high his laughter was.

Lord Voldemort turned his bald pale head as the sound of footsteps approached.

He knew these steps, of course.

They were fearful, and tentative, but, he thought with a deep amusement, they all were weren't they?

In this comfortable study, he had set up is own private sanctuary. There were books, there was a fire to stare at, there was a comfortable armchair to sit in and think of just how this would all work out.

And it would – he knew that.

He didn't have doubts.

He was more powerful now, than he ever was. He had his enemy's blood pumping in his veins. The years, yes, they had been unkind to him. He had been to the very precipice that life and death resided on, and turned back with a smile.

He shifted in his chair, a feeling of satisfaction coming over him.

Yes, he had survived.

And he would continue.

Always.

The armchair was a deep green in the darkness – as were the walls of the room. The curtains were drawn and corded shut, and maybe it was morning? Afternoon? Midnight? He didn't know, nor did he care. No matter the time, it was of no consequence. There was a constant battle to be won. There were always his acolytes at his beck and call. He had his familiar, a great snake by his side.

He smiled a lipless smile down at her. She regarded him, lifting her head, and her forked tongue coming out to taste the content he had in the air. She was quite something – her scales a bright green mixing silvers and greys and browns, until coming to a shocking finish at the white of her underside.

Her long, sinewy body was curled, and she looked quite happy, if snakes could display that emotion. She had just been fed – he had watched her swallow an entire owl. Mesmerized as she unhitched her jaw and spread it wide, fangs glinting in the light to pull the thing down her throat.

He wondered how much of a display it would be for her to swallow Pettigrew in his Animagus form.

Lord Voldemort's twisted smile grew wider. Perhaps one day then? When he is of no use and when dear Nagini is in need of feeding.

A gentle knock at the heavy silver door.

Ah, the one with the fearful footsteps had finally raised a shaking hand to ask permission to enter.

Lord Voldemort knew the man at the door would attempt to walk in with the regal essence he seemed to possess everywhere else – but ultimately would fail.

The snake-like man looked up from the slitted gaze of his familiar and back into the throws of the fire.

"Come in, Lucius."

The creak of the door joined the pops and crackles of the fire – the only sounds in the small room. A tall, pale man with a pointed face came into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

His Master had been right. He was afraid, very afraid.

His mouth pushed into a straight line, showed it.

His eyes, grey and colourless swirling with emotion, showed it.

The way his etiquette failed, his ram-straight posture turning into a hunch of submission, showed it.

He walked towards the arm chair that was facing the fire, and he knew, that there was a man, of great power who sat there.

A man who had crushed him.

A man who he had invited to crush him.

But still, upon reaching the armchair, he dropped to his knees - a place so unfamiliar to the man of many riches, and kissed the dark robes of his Master.

Lord Voldemort regarded the bent, pale head of his Death Eater with a mix of surging power and irritation, and then turned his blood-coloured gaze back to the fire.

The man grovelled he did – but, what was to be expected?

He was his Master.

He had waited a long time to be greeted in such a fashion.

And it was undoubtedly deserved.

"Good day, Lucius. Tell me, how is Draco?"

The man, who had kissed his robes with such fervour, straightened and came to kneel in front of the Dark Lord. He seemed to quake with fear at the mention of his son, and his white hair glowed in the firelight. His aristocratic bone structure was an echo of his ancestors, people that Lord Voldemort had known, in his long, seemingly endless lifetime. "He is well, my Lord. Eager to be inducted into your service."

"Undoubtedly," the Dark Lord said in a high voice, devoid of true meaning, "he shall be a faithful Death Eater, won't he Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Said Lord turned to see his precious Nagini coiled beside the Malfoy follower, watching him with a flashing interest, tasting his sweat and unshed tears at the thought of his son, on the air with a pink tongue. Lucius glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then looked up to see his Master watching the exchange – the man returned his pale grey eyes to the floor.

He dared to speak. Perhaps to change the subject from his precious son – named for the dragon of the sky.

"Nagini is looking remarkably better having eaten, my Lord. You take such exceptional care of her," the follower said.

He did take great pains with her, the Lord realized.

She was special.

She was his.

But she did not fill the void of the possession he had sought and in the end had put the snake in its place.

The possession that had escaped him.

The long, pale inhuman fingers curled around the arm of the chair in a slow and yet, deliberate movement. Lucius flinched as he thought they were going to the wand that was tucked precariously close – in the skeletal man's robes.

"Yes," the cold-blooded Lord agreed - a rare occurrence. "She is a beautiful creature… I wonder… do you recognize her name?"

A note of alarm swelled up in the Malfoy patriarch. The reedy voice which had so often called for the death of many a man as powerful as he, had contained a certain playfulness. A certain air of reflection. Lucius shook, wondering if perhaps these were the last words he would hear.

"N-no, my Lord. I do not."

Lord Voldemort chuckled, the sound coming strained from a mouth that contained no lips. "Of course you wouldn't, Lucius. Do not worry. Her name must have been banished from the tree…"

Lucius' mouth went dry, with fear or a sense of disabling curiosity – he did not know. "The tree, my Lord? My family tree?"

The Lord seemed to have lost himself in a reverie, for he was quiet, until finally he spoke. "Yesss…" the serpentine hiss came from nowhere, causing Lucius to jump, despite his kneeling position. "Now do not bother me with your questioning, there is more important work to be done than to reflect on the naming of my familiar, Lucius. Ask Severus to come into my study when he is finished with the potions in the drawing room. I want an update on Hogwarts and its doddering Headmaster."

The Lord did not look at him as he normally would have done – to reinforce his commands with a poke into his mind. He simply stared into the flames before uttering a hissing, "Leave me now, Lucius."

Lucius Malfoy nodded quickly, and leaned to kiss the robes of his Master, then straightened, backing away quickly from the chair and its occupant. He had never seen the Lord so deep in thought, so evidently deep in thought he should say – and to be honest, it scared him so badly he felt his stomach clenching with a threat of bile coming to meet his mouth. "Of course, my Lord. He will be here as soon as he is finished."

He did not wait to see the affirmation from his Master as he left the room. Lucius Malfoy knew there would not be one, and should he wait, the wand his Master was so adept with would be pulled out to greet him with a painful curse.

So he left, no doubt running in the halls of his own house to reach Severus Snape.

He had started his control of the Malfoys years before the pale man that had knelt before him before had even been born.

His father, Lucius Malfoy's father, had been the first to follow him blindly.

His father had been the first to pull him into the fold of these purebloods – wizards and witches that would embrace his philosophy.

They had, and he knew he owed his dead acolyte that much.

He also knew that he owed it to the past, dead Malfoy patriarch to have met his pet snake's namesake.

He had met her in this very house.

Within these ornate walls.

He had met her in the ballroom below him - the Malfoy Manor ballroom in all its splendour. With witches and wizards dressed to the nines. Purebloods at their best, mingling and chatting, as a young man who was named Tom Riddle, who was now feared as the great Lord Voldemort, rubbed shoulders with them.

He had met Nagini right here, and the fact was… the house hadn't changed.

He was going to change everything… He was going to get all he desired. The world at his fingertips, no – in his very grasp.

He could squeeze it and make it pliant like putty into the mould of his ideas, of his true ideas…

But like always, the pureblood house and all its rooms, all its delirious affluence… had not changed.

Nor had the memory of meeting her – it was always there.

Like the very foundation of this manor, the memory did not change.

She stayed cemented there, no matter his mixed feelings of hatred and wretched confusion towards her – the thoughts of her still had their same effects, and his damnable rushes of what could be called contempt, did nothing to warp them.

Lord Voldemort closed his eyes, revealing an almost vulnerable array of tiny blood vessels and veins coated by the thin skin of his eyelids.

He thought of her, he thought of the woman who had compelled him to name his most adored possession – his familiar – after her.

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**Hereby my disclaimer for the entirety of this story. I do not own any of the characters (except the original characters you come across) nor the world created by J.K Rowling and I seek no profit. **

**On another note, feel free to review or to leave any comments you might have! Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

_July of 1943…_

_(Malfoy Manor)  
_

* * *

The arches of the room were splendid – a veritable dedication to all architecture, magical and otherwise. The walls – they were beautiful too. With a smooth coat of shining silver, and grand mouldings that had the shapes of serpents and grapevines carved into them. The Manor seemed to shimmer with a magical intensity…

He could feel it. Him, with his almost unruly magical energy could feel the wards and the ancient magic as it pulsed all around him in this castle of a place.

It reminded him of Hogwarts… except not quite as potent. Not as intense and raw. It was more controlled here. Not quite as special and timeless.

Tom Riddle liked it all the same.

He was standing away from the thrumming heart of the ballroom, dressed deep rich blue robes that were in fact a lot less richer than they appeared to be. To anyone who was attending the dinner party at Malfoy Manor, Mr. Riddle had a very fine pair of robes. They suited his pale skin, and his dark thick hair and most importantly the midnight blue of his eyes. They were thick and embroidered at the seams. Something, much more suited to the tastes of those he had to meet.

They appeared as though they might have cost a hefty sum of Galleons. Truth was, they were a pair of ratty school robes, who Tom, in a quick flick of his wand had transfigured into a more beautiful costume. He had touched them with a smirk on his face alone in his rooms at the Manor – they were beautiful, perfect even. And he had done it quite easily hadn't he?

It was so easy to fool people.

His regular appearances at these frivolous affairs were a testament to that.

The boy wasn't used to these sorts of 'get-togethers'. But he remained composed, and the plains of his face were pleasantly sculpted so those who looked upon him did not see someone who didn't belong – but rather a handsome young man, who spoke quietly to his friends.

There were a lot of people in this room he hoped to someday know - and know well.

They were powerful, obviously.

They were influential and not a spot of filth upon them.

Yet they still regarded him, as a boy.

Imagine if they knew the Heir of Slytherin, that _boy,_was in their midst?

He'd be worshipped…

Tom allowed himself a soft sigh at the idea that no one could know just yet, and peered about him. Laughter, and the general hum of conversation were all around him. The clinking of glasses, the sweep of tailored gowns and the perfectly pitched peal of well-bred girls and women. It was always like this in Abraxas' family home on nights like these, and after a very honorary invitation here to this party, he had come.

It had not been his first courteous invitation here though. No, he had spent a considerable amount of time within these ancient walls the past few years

It had all fallen into place two years ago, the summer before his second year – when he had been allowed to come here to spend a week with Abraxas before they went to the station, then off to Hogwarts together.

The Malfoys, to put it quite bluntly, had adored him.

Tom couldn't blame them… he had been at his best after all. Using the same shy grin that he used on teachers with Mrs. Malfoy, and his calm intellect with Mr. Malfoy.

On top of that, he was a dear sweet orphan.

Easy.

And they had invited him back, obviously. Each summer he came to their home, and Abraxas couldn't be more thrilled.

His 'friend', his powerful up-and-coming Lord, to live with him? Tom snorted internally. Well that was an incredible chance wasn't it? He could gain his favour.

And he had, Tom admitted to himself. In the ways Abraxas had been loyal, he had gained Tom's scarcely-earned, unwavering attention. Abraxas had become his ear. His right hand man, if you will. He had allowed Tom to weasel his way into the very strict circle of pureblood families that controlled the very wizarding world.

Beside him now, were two sons of two prominent wizarding families he had met on his very first night at Hogwarts… Antares Macnair and Reginald Goyle. They were an imposing pair – all muscle and cracking knuckles.

At times, Tom wanted to kill them for just being so stupid and brawny – but then again their physical strength had its uses.

People were terrified of them.

And they were terrified of him.

Macnair and Goyle were like bulls in a china shop here, Tom thought with a smirk. Their fancy robes of deep grey and green could not conceal them for what they really were – mindless. They shifted uneasily next to him, great fists holding delicate glasses of elf-made wine.

It looked idiotic really – two great big brutes among fine-boned women and haughty-looking men.

But they, of course, had been immersed in this world longer than he had, and he was content to watch from the shadowy corner of the room – away from the inane conversations and dancing, until he could pull himself into a very profitable conversation with some wizard or another.

It was what he usually did – and it worked.

He was receiving offers to work at the ministry at every one of these events… and this was the summer before his sixth year no less.

Oh, but a lot of knowledge had come to him in those six years.

He had a vision, backed by the very blood in his veins.

He had followers, who embraced his vision, and were in awe of his heritage.

Tom Riddle, descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin.

His dark, lovely eyes flitted across the room once more, and he leaned casually against the wall, as he let the chances, the calculations accumulate in his head.

He heard a rather heavy accent – coming from a moustached man across the room.

_Ah, a foreign wizard.  
_  
He frowned, watching as the wizard tilted his ugly head back and laughed, and then Tom's eyes strayed to the foreigner's clothing.

Cheap robes – no use going to chat.

_What use is a person if they are foreign and poor hmm?_

A voice rose above the loud chatter, from somewhere to his right.

The man who was speaking had jowls that jiggled with his speech – which was accompanied by a snobbish tone.

"I _highly _doubt that it would be necessary to soak the knotgrass – with the potency of having both dragon heart and dragon eggs mixed into the potion at the same time. I mean, that is an _incredible_ force there, which, _obviously_powers the drinker…"

Potions…

Now this might be interesting.

Tom turned to the arrogant voice, and on the far side of the room, a group of young men dressed in spotless cloaks, accompanied by a few older men that had their drab, little wives hanging off their arms stood in a loose circle of conversation.

But…

They were ridiculously dull, in comparison with the creature that stood with them, her shoulders held back in a most defiant posture, and her eyebrow cocked at the man who spoke with evident distaste.

Tom felt his mouth quirk at her expression.

She looked, as though she were dealing with a very small stupid child – and that she hated to be doing it.

Though, she seemed to be the only person listening to the man – he noticed that the rest of the group, especially the young men, darted glances at this unknown young woman. Sneakily letting their eyes wander over the soft flow of her shoulders, her pale milky skin and the way her dress hugged her willowy frame in a snug, yet unfathomably casual way. But there was nothing casual about it when she had that look on her face – it made her seem… Well there wasn't a proper word for it, but Tom was determined to find it.

The dress was tight around her waist, and Tom let his eyes travel over the natural cinch in her body with a lazy sort of interest, and his eyes flickered up to the square cut of the neckline and how it held her body so expertly. None of her, presumably milky coloured legs were shown, not even the peep-toe of her shoes, because of the dress' impossible length. Even her hands and forearms were concealed in satin gloves that reached her elbows, with a set of buttons along the sides – a reflective mossy hue.

But did it ever set her off.

Her hair matched its deep forest green – it being a startling red. It was swept up to the nape of her neck – pinning down shining waves.

Her face was as haughty and well carved as many other women here but there was something distinctly different – something flashing in very dark eyes.

Tom didn't even know the colour of those eyes – they were so dark.

They flashed at the man who drawled on about this potion, and her full lips parted as if she'd like to join in, but alas, Tom smirked deeply inside his mind, she was a woman, and these were not the affairs of a woman. Oh no.

No wonder they stared at her, this woman was like a bitch in heat compared to the tame women that flittered all around them.

He leaned towards his follower.

"Goyle," his voice came like a whiplash - an order, "who is that?"

The beefy boy moved his head to check in which direction his Master's eyes were focused. "The girl by Parkinson over there?"

Ah, so the boy who had so covertly looked over her breasts was the older Parkinson brother.

Tom nodded, still watching the girl as she took a sip from the crystal glass in her glove-sheathed hands, the liquid barely touching her lips, and her gaze never wavering from the man who so obnoxiously discussed potions.

"That is Nagini Lajoie, my Lord."

Goyle's last words were whispered, for no one knew yet of Tom's power. Of his greatness.

Tom's face remained impassive. He had never heard of her, or seen her.

But she was certainly a pretty thing wasn't she?

Much more… appealing that the girls who wheedled after him in school.

Her head was probably empty. A pity.

"I see," Tom said tonelessly. "To whom is she related to then, Goyle?"

Tom had his eyes still trained on her, when a laugh bubbled up from his right, tearing his attention away from the Lajoie girl.

He turned with a smirk to see Abraxas Malfoy, strolling over with a tumbler of some sort of Firewhiskey in his hand. His long, pale hair was pulled back and his robes were a scintillating silver.

"Myself," his favoured follower answered his question in his most respectful, yet friendly manner. "She is my relation, on the French side of my family. A cousin of sorts. Though she was born here, along with her parents and brother…" Tom saw his gaze wander over to the girl in question, and a soft smile took over Abraxas' features, then a sudden disappointment. "Too bad we are share blood… She is a fine specimen of a witch…I do enjoy arguing with the chit. What is it that has caught your interest, if I may ask, my Lord?"

Tom glanced at this Lajoie woman, and agreed silently. She was… interesting to look at.

"Nothing," the Slytherin heir answered simply, instead. "I have simply never seen her at Hogwarts, yet she seems to be close to us in age. Tell me, Abraxas, how old is she? Is she unlearned or simply being made to bear fine pureblooded children?"

A collection of laughs from his followers.

Malfoy grinned at him, but bowed his head in respect. "She's a year our senior, and she has never attended Hogwarts. She is home-schooled. Her parents believe it fitting to have her taught by tutors. That being said, I know she is very much a learned young lady and I am sure…" – a twisted smile - "she would bear fine children indeed."

A hollow laugh came from the solemn boy as he met his confidante's grey gaze. "I cannot blame her parents. Having Dumbledore as a teacher is most… unsatisfying."

Goyle snickered. "I agree, my Lord."

Tom took a deep gulp from his wine glass, turning to see the girl looking even more annoyed than she did before. Her dark eyes were glittering with mockery and her fingers squeezing around the glass in her hands. He wanted to smile at her – because in some way, this reminded him of himself. He probably did look that way very often – amused at other people's stupidity, fighting against the urge to teach them exactly how much they needed to learn.

_Curious._

"Introduce us, if you please, Abraxas. She seems fitting for a conversation…" Tom drawled, innuendo firmly in place.

Macnair tittered. "Among other things, my Lord."

Abraxas simply nodded to his Lord, ignoring the crude boy. "Certainly. Knowing my parents they will be delighted to have her introduced to, as they say it, 'promising young man'."

Tom laughed darkly. "They do not know just how promising I am, now do they?"

Abraxas shook his head, and his voice became reverent. "Oh no, my Lord. Nobody but your faithful followers that is."

The foursome made their way across the room, and received nods and glances of respect as they made their way over to the girl who had, surprisingly, caught the attention of the very caustic young Riddle. Abraxas, being son to the host – smiled at each of them, and he smiled even wider, Tom noticed, when they came to stand before that splendid creature.

She was even more interesting close up.

Her irises, Tom realized as he stood before her, were almost pure black – giving her a rousing wide-eyed look. Long light lashes framed them – magnifying the darkness. Despite the fieriness of her hair, her complexion was free of freckles – no doubt owing to life under a parasol or wide-brimmed hats, so popular with the pureblooded witches. She had an upturned little nose, and wide lips that turned up into a lazy smile upon seeing Abraxas and his friends.

Tom felt her dark, shining eyes turn on to him, and he could practically feel her curiosity.

She didn't release his gaze until she curtsied, low and graceful, deep green gloves gripping the folds of her dress as she rewarded Tom and his followers with a view of her curls settling against the nape of her neck.

And her head, suddenly snapped back up – eyes as wide and disconcerting as ever, and definitely not focused on Tom, but on the pale, regal blonde beside him.

She held out a hand to Abraxas, the shiny glove almost exotic in the light.

Her mouth parted, and out came a drawling, muted soprano, which arrested Tom with its confidence and briskness.

"Hello my dear Abraxas… I have to say… It is most interesting and becoming to be greeted be a host _and _his entourage." 

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	3. Chapter 3

_July of 1943..._

_(Malfoy Manor)_

* * *

Of course, Tom was not the sort to show this girl, exactly how insipid he might make her feel. That would defeat the purpose of demeaning this little witch – and it would be quite satisfying to do so, considering her almost… superior demeanour.

Tom found that he quite liked the singular raised eyebrow that the Lajoie girl was now sporting in face of her pale family member. But… it simply wouldn't do to have someone else giving such a proud look.

So Tom, had sipped his drink and listened as Abraxas tilted his head back and laughed, his shockingly pale hair falling back, while Macnair and Goyle watched the girl in an odd fashion – as if she were a package, with a possible curse – about to explode.

The Malfoy heir then leaned forward to kiss her glove, pressing his mouth to the green silk – before lifting himself up to full height, giving her another happy smile.

"Amusing, Nagini. You were always one for odd greetings," Abraxas said lightly, but his pale grey eyes were dancing as he watched the lovely girl grin at him so unashamedly.

Tom stilled, waiting for that tell-tale shake of the head, and blush, that pureblooded girls were so often inclined to do, when a man such as Abraxas (or even better yet, Tom himself) made fun of them.

She simply rolled her dark eyes, in a most un-courtesan-like fashion. "All the more to remember me by when I am infinitely more well known than you are."

_Interesting._

She didn't seem to care.

She actually seemed to relish in the teasing, and bite back with equal fervour.

Abraxas let out one of his rare, genuinely happy laughs, while Goyle and Macnair tittered. Tom Riddle gratified appearances by chuckling softly – and as he did so, letting the soft laughs escape him – her dark, impenetrable gaze flickered to where he stood.

An excitement washed over the teenager, when he realized if she held his gaze long enough, that perhaps he could try his hand at peering into her presumably shallow pool of petty thoughts.

Though, as if she knew his plan, the Lajoie girl turned away from him, causing her lovely forest green dress to tighten around her trim waist, raising her fine chin and extending a gloved hand to Goyle.

A part of Tom wanted to strike her in the mouth for being so impertinent – for failing to greet him right after her family member, Abraxas.

The dark-haired young man was used to being treated with the highest respect. Though, he was soothed slightly, when he remembered that her etiquette could not allow her to greet a stranger before purebloods she had known all her life.

_She certainly knew how to play this game_, Tom thought.

"Ahhhh," Goyle let out a reminiscent sigh, as he pressed a chaste kiss to her silk-sheathed knuckles, "Mademoiselle Lajoie, vous est parfait."

Tom wanted to laugh at the bulky man; his French accent was hideous. His laughable attempt at romanticism was nullified by his thuggish appearance and the way this girl seemed to outclass him.

Truly, it was evident that her social manners were far more developed than Reginald Goyle's, it showed in every swish of her hand, and the posture she held, yet she seemed to lack an elementary lesson that every good pureblood girl ought to have instilled in their lovely little heads at birth: it is best, if you are not heard. It is best, to have a gift for quietude.

The Lajoie girl seemed to think that his French was horrid too, or that he lacked a certain grace about him, because her lip curled slightly and she patted Goyle's hand in a mocking way.

"It is 'vous _êtes_ _parfaite_', Reginald. But I do thank you for your attempt…" her voice was sweetly veiling the underlying insult. Though, Goyle didn't seem to notice it in any way, because Nagini Lajoie had given him a wide smile – all her lovely, white teeth in full display behind rouged lips.

Tom watched, slightly fascinated with her viper-esque attitude.

Next, she turned to Macnair, extending her hand yet again. "How good to see you again, Antares."

Her greeting was much more muted, reflecting the fact that Macnair was new money – not old money – and had just been let into these close British Pureblood circles a generation ago.

He smiled indulgently at her though, anyway – and kissed her glove softly. "Likewise, Miss Lajoie."

She nodded, those wild red curls bobbing with the movement, and finally, she turned to the Heir of Slytherin, himself.

Tom Riddle watched her with a slight expectation – as if he really would enjoy tearing her apart, or coaxing her to become yet another girl who's superficial affections he toyed with.

She turned her fiery onyx gaze on him, and he tried in vain to discern pupil from iris, as she smiled coyly at him.

"May I enquire as to who you are, sir?"

His body tensed at her rather curious lilt. She actually did want to know – what a nice development. She was curious about him, as he was curious to influence her.

He let his midnight blue eyes flicker down to where her hand was offered, and took it into his palm, in a gentle fashion.

"I am Tom Riddle, it is a pleasure to meet you, Nagini Lajoie." He bent his head and pressed his full mouth to the silk, disguising a slight shiver of pleasure at the feel of such a rich, exotic material.

"Ah, I have heard of you from my dear cousin, Abraxas. Though, he did not inform me that you had heard of my humble self, Mr. Riddle," the red-haired girl said in a voice that betrayed her tenuous surprise at having him name her. The soprano melody of her respectful verbatim, also seemed to sheath her irritation at being the one with less information, and having Tom be the one who knew of her.

Clearly, she enjoyed being a step ahead.

Tom smirked deeply to himself this quirk of the girl, and straightened in time to catch Abraxas' disbelieving snort at face value.

"Humble? You, Nagini?" Tom's pale follower scoffed at Ms. Lajoie.

She shrugged her delicate shoulders, before sipping from her crystal tumbler once more – her heart shaped lips pressed to the glass in a coquettish way.

Again, Tom let his eyes appraise her, and watched as her dark eyes danced while Abraxas continued to tease her. Clearly, his right-hand follower had a deep devotion to the redheaded woman before him. He hardly paid any mind to the girls at school who fawned over him for his pale looks, his grandeur or his money – but he seemed to take the time to speak with this dear cousin of his.

_Though_, Tom thought, _this is the first time I have seen her.  
_  
_Either that, or she had not been this remarkable before.  
_  
That hardly seemed possible, for her lovely complexion, fiery eyes and unique hair seemed to rivet everyone's attention in this room. That was solidified, when Tom glanced around as he took a long drink from his glass, and saw many a pair of inquisitive eyes on the young group.

He had let his mind slip away from the conversation at hand, but clearly Miss Lajoie wasn't as quiet and boring as the other pureblooded girls, who sat and watched conversation.

_No, she was in it.  
_  
He watched, blocking out her words, as she furrowed her brow or traced the rim of her glass with an impatient air.

She lived and breathed her words. Acted them out with her arms and her flashing eyes.

Her body seemed to mirror her attitudes – tall, willowy and definitely different from the smaller girls he had been accustomed to. She was regal in height, in speech and in her aristocratic looks.

How, had he not seen her before?

"Miss Lajoie," Tom said in a firm voice, when he saw that Abraxas had effectively tired whatever argument they had been stringing along, "I do not mean to be rude, but I have never seen you at any of the Malfoy Manor parties…Nor anyplace else, in fact."

Miss Lajoie turned to give him a speculative look, before nodding slowly as she put a gloved finger to her mouth, tapping her drink-dampened lips in thought.

He let his eyes linger there for a moment, as the bead of whatever it was she was drinking was licked off her lips. It was a caramel hue… A brandy… _Delicious_.

His eyes snapped back up to her where her dark orbs were framed by light blonde lashes, and she spoke.

"Yes, Mister Riddle," she said in a deft kind of voice, "It would seem we have not met at any of my extended family functions here because of my deep interest in my studies, my family's rather erratic schedule due to my brother Cetus' extracurricular activities, and of course, the obvious fact: I do not attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

_She was frank_, Tom thought in slight surprise. He thought about testing her 'home-school' knowledge, but it was better to play dumb for the time being, so as to not alarm the girl, of his familiarity on her after questioning her family friend, Goyle.

"I see," Tom said in an offhand voice, "so since you are so studious, and you are of French descent, owing to the last name 'Lajoie', you must go to Beauxbatons then?"

Miss Lajoie shook her head, letting her gaze finally disconnect from his midnight blue eyes. "No, I do not go to any European wizarding school, Mister Riddle. I am home-schooled by tutors and by myself."

Tom wanted to sneer at her – she _obviously_hadn't gotten much education if she wanted to freely admit that.

Though he nodded, as if interested instead. "Indeed? And your brother, Cetus? Does he go to school?"

At the mention of her brother, her mouth seemed to pucker in distaste, and she caught his gaze once more, shaking her head. "No, he is also tutored. He had wished to go to Durmstrang or Hogwarts, but my mother and father wished for us to both stay home."

Abraxas snickered suddenly. "Undoubtedly, because of the anguish it would cause you both to be separated."

Tom felt a flicker of annoyance when she turned her dancing onyx gaze to her cousin to give him a look of disbelief. Abraxas' narrow face was deeply amused at her mercurial change in demeanour. She opened her rosebud mouth to say something, but Tom quickly called her back into the conversation.

"So, Miss Lajoie, you did not ever want to attend, Hogwarts?" Tom asked in a kind voice.

Of course, he could not think of anyone who would not want to come to Hogwarts. It was something to behold, and it was quite possible that he loved it there, and in Tom's opinion, to not adore and revere Hogwarts, was almost impossible to fathom.

She turned back, giving him a long, thoughtful look before her simple reply rattled him: "No. Hogwarts does not interest me, if not for a few things."

How could Hogwarts not interest her?

_What sort of stupid witch didn't see Hogwarts as a threshold for pure, undiluted power?_

His offence came through when he leaned towards her menacingly, and his followers tensed, as his long frame came closer to her. "Yes, and what could _those_ possibly be, Miss Lajoie? Those few things that somehow managed to interest _you_?"

She seemed relatively unaffected by the fact he was irritated with her, or how nasty his tone had been when he had just questioned her. She even had the gall to smile playfully into his face, letting her lashes blink innocently as she traced his austere, yet remarkably handsome features with her wide eyes. "Oh, I'm not sure… The library… The Room of Requirement… and of course," he watched as her gaze grew sparkly in their darkness, and she raised a gloved hand to cup her mouth, as if she were giving him a delicious rumour. "I would love to find the legendary Chamber of Secrets…"

Tom's mouth went dry, and to his surprise his heart began to thump in a wild, erratic pattern within his chest.

Those simple words in that sundry soprano had caused his mind to leap and bound with his most deeply coveted ambitions and secrets.

The Chamber of Secrets… The Chamber he had vowed to find upon finding out that he was Heir to Salazar Slytherin last year…

Yet, here was this unknown shrew of a girl who was teasing him about finding it.

Well, now he had to find it. It was a given.

If only to make it a slap in her smug little face.

He pressed his lips together and watched as she tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear, and offered him a cocky smile. "Perhaps, I shall break in and do it all someday, but for now, I am content with my lack of presence on Hogwarts grounds." Her dark eyes closed with a slight bit of confidence as she continued on, and her tiny upturned nose scrunched up with humour.

Tom simply leaned back on his heels and appraised Miss Lajoie coldly, as she opened her mysterious eyes and waited for his answer.

Abraxas, Macnair and Goyle were all watching him in worry now. Afraid of his wrath against the outspoken girl.

"Only a foolish girl would believe themselves capable to break into Hogwarts," the tall young man said simply, as if dismissing her completely.

Nagini Lajoie raised her fine boned head to shake it slowly, smiling all the while. "Ah, ah, ah," she admonished him, to the horror of Tom Riddle's followers. "Not a foolish girl, but an ambitious one, my dear."

Abraxas began to take a step towards his cousin, for fear of his Master punishing her for her correcting him. He had never taken kindly to corrections, and certainly not disrespectful ones as he had just received from Nagini, but Abraxas noted with wonder that his Master was frowning at the girl, and then with a sudden quick- change in his face, he was smiling at her.

"Of course, ambition is always key," Tom said, as he stared at the lovely girl before him, as if she were a very odd puzzle.

Miss Lajoie seemed content with his answer, and gave her empty glass a scowl, before it replenished automatically. Obviously the Malfoys took no heed in keeping their guests well-quenched. She took a slight sip; smiling slightly into her glass, before giving a measured look to each of the men around her. "And anyone who thinks otherwise is doomed to a life as hollow as a Gryffindors head."

The group began to laugh, suddenly enthralled with this strange girl putting down their most hated house, and Tom felt his tingling curiosity again.

"May I ask where you have learned so much about Hogwarts?" his voice was commanding, but she seemed to overlook it.

It was true though, she seemed to know the slight ins and outs to the Hogwarts myths… The Chamber of Secrets, being the one that so direly interested Tom.

She tilted her head to the side, like she was evaluating his motives, before answering him. "Of course you may, sir. I may not attend the school…" she straightened, and her gaze became less mirthful and more solid, and daring, "but it does not mean I have not taken the liberty to read 'Hogwarts: A History'."

_Ah, so the girl knew her literature._

Interesting, very interesting.

So this could be the testing of the waters… was she a true Pureblood to her core? Did she hate Muggles as he did…

Tom's voice melted into the intonation he used when he was trying to impress: deep and unquestionable. "It is a very good book, though lacking in further explanation of Salazar Slytherin's philosophy…"

At the name of the great Founder, his followers begin to nod fervently, but his eyes are locked on Miss Lajoie, and how her body seems to stiffen with excitement, and her black-sky eyes have gotten that manic sheen he had seen before, when she had so adamantly shown she did not agree with the old wizard who boasted of his potions knowledge.

She leaned towards him, and he noted once more, how her whole body seemed to be in a conversation, not just her mind, as if the two were completely linked with no divide. She could not control her body from reacting from her wild thoughts even if she wanted to, it seemed.

"They spurn his analogies because it conflicts with the current ones…" her voice had changed from a Lady entertaining fellow purebloods to a scholar in the throes of a debate – heated and yet light and crisp. Her lip was released from her lovely white teeth, and her face was smoothed with thought, her gaze far away. "It does not bode well to have an influential reference book clash with the idea of equality among wizarding-kind. It would be foolish to venture in territory that could rip apart the legislative measures the Ministry had taken…"

Tom breathed in at her words – _so she wasn't as hollow-headed as I might have assumed her to be.  
_  
Yet, her mischievous look came back – and she looked up at Tom through her pale lashes, making him lean forward in anticipation for her next words.

"Though, Mister Riddle, if I may be so bold, there are many other books that will tell you of Slytherin's philosophy…" she smirked, as if tasting her phrase's connotations, and raised her mesmerizing dark eyes to stare innocently at the tall boy before her, "but perhaps ventures into restricted sections are far too extensive for your tastes?"

_She…_

That absolute -

What an insufferable wench.

He didn't know whether to smile, or drag her by her shiny lustrous hair across the room, where he could _crucio_her into apologizing and kissing his feet.

Tom didn't get the chance to choose though, because Abraxas Malfoy had stiffened to an almost painful-looking extent, and was staring at his cousin in disbelief.

"Nagini!" Abraxas hissed. "That mouth of yours! You are a lady, so if you please –"

Tom held up his hand. He would deal no punishment to this woman; ultimately there was no point in letting Abraxas berate the girl. Tom's pride was not wounded, nor was he insulted, he was simply intrigued. This infraction that the Nagini Lajoie girl had done upon him warranted only a bit of mockery, and of course, he had to inquire why this girl was so quick en lieu of the sluggishness of most females he had met.

"Abraxas, it is fine. There is no harm done, except perhaps to your reputation as a quiet good, doting women with a dowry…" his voice came through in a condescending tone, and even though his dark blue eyes were focused on Abraxas, he could see the impact it had on the girl. Miss Lajoie's mouth turned down into a scowl, but when he faced her, she did not smother it, she only raised an eyebrow, keen on knowing what exactly he had to say to her. "But I will take up your advice, Miss Lajoie, and research more extensively."

Her head once again, tilted in a silent question, and her lovely chest was shown in it's pale milky splendour, and her gloves clasped the glass tightly.

_So, I put her off-kilter, do I?  
_  
Tom, thoroughly enjoyed this.

She did not back down though, she inclined her pretty head, and with all the arrogance she could muster, she answered very shortly.

"Of course, Mister Riddle."

* * *

**A\N: As you can see I've gone a bit off-canon here. Originally, Tom Riddle opens the Chamber of Secrets and releases the Basilisk in his fifth year at Hogwarts, but I've pushed it back a bit, and in this story - he is about to go into his sixth year, aware of the fact he is the Heir, but will not open the Chamber until he is in his sixth year. It just works much easier for me, in this story. **

**As always, feel free to review or leave any comments or questions!**


	4. Chapter 4

_July of 1943..._

_(Malfoy Manor)_

* * *

Winning was the one thing, that felt good to Tom – and this, letting this girl, this Lajoie descendant, lose because she was regarded as weaker than he, it felt a lot like winning.

So, of course, he could relish in it in some fashion. So, the heir smiled in a condescending way down at the redheaded witch, while she looked up at him with a fiery sort of anger that smouldered in the depths of her obsidian eyes.

Abraxas, ever the non-confrontational member of Tom's Knights of Walpurgis, cleared his throat in a very loud fashion, before nudging his cousin slightly with his elbow, in an almost unseen gesture of familiarity that simply did not occur between a man and woman in these halls. Tom tried not to frown as he saw her lack of reaction.

"Are you not going to badger me about the latest happenings of the Pureblood community within Hogwarts, Nagini?" Abraxas teased the girl, as she quit her glaring at Tom, and sipped from her glass, not before giving Abraxas a slight smile.

Macnair and Goyle snickered slightly – because usually the _'latest happenings of the Pureblood community'_ were quite scandalous, if that was the proper term – down right dirty, could also be employed.

"Perhaps later, Abraxas," the Lajoie girl said with a slightly careless wave of her gloved hand, which sent the silk scintillating under the candlelight. "We could walk around and point out which men are going to be gaining new jobs at the Ministry, due to the fact they have sent Ministry Warlocks daughters up the duff."

Abraxas snickered, and Tom drank deeply from his wine glass to hide a slight smirk at what she had said.

It was awfully true – too many girls and boys from pure families had made their marriage contracts rock solid when they simply couldn't restrain themselves before graduation; shaming their families, and ultimately, looking like utter tarts and idiots.

Tom, had to admit that carnal desires were a natural impulse, but these pent up, lovely Purebloods, were altogether manic when they broke loose. Tom, he sampled here and there, and kept himself in check. Never sticking with one long enough, except to perhaps give her a goodbye kiss, and he always appeared saccharine, so, the ladies simply assumed he was untouchable (which, in his mind he was), and that made them want him all the more.

Tom Riddle looked up to see Nagini smiling wickedly at his pale friend, and her gaze flickered to his companions, and Tom to himself with a deadly accuracy.

Abraxas, had his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in her direction. "You seem to know more about my place of learning than I do. How funny – perhaps, you ought to come to our school and see what havoc you could reap there? Add in your own personal touch to our slew of drama and comedy of errors?"

Nagini smiled wider, teeth glinting in the light. "I'm fairly certain I would be put into Slytherin should that ever come to be…"

Tom felt his muscles wind up excitedly, and he watched her creamy skin as it seemed to glow in the candlelight, that was significantly lowered so the dancing could commence.

Of course she would be in Slytherin, he thought in an absent sort of way, she's a wicked little -

Abraxas scoffed, cutting off Tom's thoughts. "Oh, Nagini. You have yet to be sorted and you are so terribly sure that you have a place in our House."

The redhead cocked a sleek eyebrow at her family member, and seemed to shrug almost imperceptibly, delicate bones of her shoulders rising and falling in an almost subtle breath. Tom observed the shadows moving along her clavicle with an interested hungry look, before watching her face once more. "Of course I am sure. Where else could I be?"

Abraxas, winked at his companions, watching Tom cocking his head at his follower before the pale boy answered. "Hufflepuff, surely?"

Macnair laughed hard, sloshing some of his wine about and Goyle seemed like a boulder emitting sounds of thunder with great shaking guffaws. Tom, keeping up appearances smiled ruefully, but watched the girl, with avid fascination – what could her reaction be?

Nagini's tiny nose was wrinkled with distaste, as if she had smelled something particularly pungent. "Not on your life, Abraxas."

The Malfoy heir shook his haughty head, and Tom, for once, found the man to be amusing as he bantered with his kin. "No – you're not loyal at all are you? Woes betide the man who gets you as a wife." Abraxas had sneered the last part, with a slight chuckle.

Tom raised his dark eyebrows, and let his midnight eyes narrow with the well-aimed barb. My, Abraxas, how harsh. The girl will probably walk away in a huff like the typical temperamental hussy…

Nagini snickered darkly, her tiny nose wrinkling up with mirth.

Tom steeled his expression, so as to not cock an eyebrow at this unexpected turn of events. The redhead leaned forward and, her cinched dress seemed to hug her willowy body in such an indisputably tasteful way, that Macnair and Goyle each leaned forward with her. They, along with Tom, caught her teasing wink sent towards her cousin along with her words. "For this man shall surely have to take up a fine mistress to keep him out of my way!" she whispered in a teasing manner .

Macnair and Goyle, once again, for the umpteenth time that night, began to laugh, but Abraxas groaned putting a hand to his face in some sort of shame.

"You are so brash. You will never marry…" Abraxas sighed in a heavy way, as if this was a fact he had long ago come to terms with, yet it still irked him.

Nagini rolled her lovely eyes; keeping them trained on the high, elaborate ceilings, seemingly fascinated with the vines painted along wide arcs above them. "Perhaps I do it on purpose, my sweet Abraxas. Perhaps I am on a singular mission to be as brash as possible. Have you never thought of that, even with that boarding school educated brain of yours?"

Her eyes flashed back to him, to all of them, and they landed on Tom who watched her with a growing anger and curiosity. Her cheekbones weren't even flushed, having said such outlandish words.

But Abraxas, as always, did not seek to dive in for a fight. "I wish your father would hear you with that tongue of yours. He'd cut it out of your mouth, and he'd never take you to the Manor again!" he laughed.

Goyle chuckled. "And Cetus. Merlin, what would your brother say. As Abraxas said, you would find yourself hard-pressed to see the walls of the Manor again!"

Nagini patted Goyle's arm briefly before commenting cheekily. "And you would never have the pleasure of my company, nor my lovely speech…"

Tom smirked slightly. Now he had a certain reading on the girl, and he knew he could hit where it hurt. He knew that the mere mention of her kin would send that unbearably attractive flush into her cheeks once more.

So he leaned towards her, letting his eyes drag over the rustling layers of her gown, her creamy skin and lastly her cherubic, yet wisened face, which held suspicious, yet fiery eyes that burned into him with a stinging mark of intelligence.

"Nor the lack of tact you have around men above your stature, Miss Lajoie," Tom said softly, in what could be an almost endearingly, soft tone.

A tone to melt butter, and the tone that wooed the many girls of Hogwarts… Yet now, he used it with harsh, cutting words against this bitch of fine breeding.

Nagini bristled, her eyes growing flat with anger and her tone was cold. "Yes, Mister Riddle, perhaps I should go back to my needlework and searching for a proper husband, shouldn't I?"

Tom smiled in a demeaning manner, and he watched as her eyes flickered uncertainly to his lips, and then to his eyes. She was not fooled he knew that much. "But where would we be without your cheek?" he asked her in a charming fashion.

"You?" Nagini smirked in his face before uttering in a low scathing tone but yet it was repartee in an almost undistinguishable way, and Tom watched her rosebud mouth shape the words, "bored, very bored. Myself? Talking to old men about incorrect Potion theories. That is exactly where we would be, sir."

Tom felt his eyes glaze over as he thought about what that old wizard had been talking about, while he had watched this confrontational little witch agonize over the stupidity of it all.

'_I highly doubt that it would be necessary to soak the knotgrass – with the potency of having both dragon heart and dragon eggs mixed into the potion…_' the old coot had drawled… he remembered it.

But what potion was it?

How could he find out if it was right or not?

Tom wanted to crunch the tiny wineglass in his hand.

He couldn't remember.

He could not, for the life of him, remember what potion the old man, and the Lajoie girl were talking about.

Which meant… he couldn't even attempt to prove the man right or wrong.

He watched as Nagini's eyebrow grew more and more cocked, and felt a rising tide of anger, and he saw her heart-shaped lips turn up into a soft, alluring smile.

"So I suppose putting up with your impudence will have its own merit…" Tom said in a thoughtful voice, attempting to get a rise out of her.

It did of course, and he smiled slightly, against his will when she scowled up at him fiercely, opening her mouth, obviously about to spout out something hot tempered. But in that second, the outpouring of wit that she had undoubtedly been about to whip Tom's way was cut short, when Abraxas' hand came down firmly upon her tiny wrist in some sort of warning grip, that released itself softly to become a gentle hold upon her arm.

Tom whipped his head up towards his Knight, his mouth twisted in anger at having been interrupted when he was speaking to this girl, but then he frowned as he saw Abraxas' expression: he looked uncomfortable, afraid even, and he looked at his lovely cousin with wide, pale eyes.

"Shush, Nagini," the ashen wizard hissed at the redhead. "Your father is coming to check on you."

Nagini's change in demeanour was almost instant. Her eyes widened for a moment, then her gaze lowered in an almost demure fashion, her fair, thick eyelashes brushing her now colourless cheeks. Her grip on the wineglass tightened, and… she was quiet.

Yet, her mouth was set in a firm way, her jaw locked in unhappiness, and her fiery red hair seemed even more rouge with her suppressed anger.

Tom didn't like this change at all. In fact, he found himself missing her rudeness, and her quick retorts, and he wanted to put her in her place again; see her coil for a rebuttal to his harsh words. That is until he noticed just how quiet his Knights were as they looked into the crowd with grim expressions, and he peered over Nagini's forcibly bent head to see a fair-haired man moving swiftly through the throngs of witches and wizards.

Yes, he could see that this man was Nagini's father simply by looking at him. Tom noticed the same tall, willowy frame but Mr. Lajoie's shoulders were wide set, and muscled beneath his black robes. His hair was not a pure blonde, but a strawberry blonde that was combed severely to the side, and his face was clean-shaven… to reveal the high cheekbones, and almost stern look to his mouth.

He came to stand near Abraxas, clapping him on the shoulder with a giant, many-ringed hand.

"Ah, Abraxas. Taking care of my daughter, are you?" Tom watched the Lajoie patriarch laugh, yet the blonde watched Nagini with cold eyes, as she continued to look down into her brandy-glass.

Abraxas nodded, smiling lightly at his distant uncle. "Yes, sir. I was introducing her to my classmates from Hogwarts."

Mr. Lajoie's smile fell slightly, and his handsome face grew quite still, as he looked at each of the boys then glanced at his daughter, eyes narrowing at how she seemed to have been leaning towards Tom Riddle. "Ah, but Abraxas," Mr. Lajoie said in a soft, acerbic voice, "Nagini musn't be socializing with your friends, but rather, her suitors. It will give her possible future husbands a bad impression to see her gallivanting with boys – no matter who they may be…"

Tom's dark eyes flickered slightly.

Suitors? She was to be wed off? Her father was to have her wed off with a dowry to some other Pureblood… She was like a birthing cow to them, apparently. He glanced down at her, taking in her soft, slim figure and her apparently silky skin that only intensified in appeal when wrapped in that curve-hugging dress. Her hair – fiery and thick. Her gaze, lowered, only showed the soft edges to her face, and her aggravation was evident in the way her rouged lips were parted.

_They would have no trouble marrying her off_, Tom thought.

Not with that body. Not with that mind.

Perhaps, the man who got her would be the envy of every other Pureblood here.

Perhaps, she was top contender within the girls who desperately wanted to marry a first-born son of a Pureblood family…

Perhaps she would do nothing in life except push children from her loins, and part her long legs for whomever her family chose for her.

Tom's lip curled at the notion.

Nagini, at the mention of suitors had stopped staring blankly into her glass, and her head had snapped up to stare evenly at her father.

Blue eyes met black – and the father and daughter smiled at each other in an almost bitter way of greeting.

"Father," Nagini addressed him for the first time in the most odd, hateful yet sweet voice, "I do not think that friends of Abraxas make unfit company. They are fine gentleman, and do not besmirch my reputation –"

The older man laughed softly, interrupting her, and his eyes, like chipped sapphires – shone with the same keen intelligence his daughters' held, flashed to each of the boys. "I am not insinuating that you are not all fine young men, Abraxas, Goyle, Macnair and -" his gaze stilled on Tom, raking over him with a lack of recognition and a frank curiosity which verged on rudeness, " – who might you be, young sir?"

Tom felt like he shouldn't like this man. He felt like, there was a great and powerful wizard before him, yet he wanted nothing to do with him, because of the way he had approached them all, and the way he disregarded the witch before him. This was probably a first… To feel the pulsing magical aura of this man, and not want to approach it… because of something as insignificant as a home-schooled witch.

Yet, he could not scorn this man… Not a direct relation to the Malfoys. That would only limit his resources when the only thing he ought to be doing is expanding them until they reached the four corners of the Earth.

So Tom leaned forward, extending his hand to the man in a salutation, his robes' threads glowing in a fine manner in the dimmed light, and as the Lajoie man and the Slytherin Heir shook hands, Tom saw Nagini eye him with something like respect.

Perhaps because he did not act so idiotically stooge-like with her father, or maybe because Tom had gripped his hand firmly, like an equal, and Mr. Lajoie's eyes suddenly became appraising as they ghosted over Tom Riddle yet another time.

"I am Tom Riddle… A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," said the dark haired teenager, in a quiet, charismatic voice to the fair-haired man.

"I am Cepheus Lajoie, and I, you, Mister Riddle…" the older man nodded, releasing his hand, and in turn placing it upon his daughter's arm, his fingers digging into it slightly, but not so much as to arouse suspicious – but Tom saw the faint redness under his fingertips from where he gripped Nagini Lajoie.

Her lovely face remained stony, and she momentarily glanced at Tom's suspicious eyes, before smiling slightly at Goyle and Macnair – ignoring Abraxas all together… because his mouth was a fine line, and his nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, as the grip her father had on her, tightened.

"Well, young wizards, I'm afraid I must remove my fair daughter from your company, for the dancing has started and she is to win no bids for her dowry by drinking in your fine company…" Mr. Lajoie smiled at each of them, and gave a wink to Abraxas, before he circled his daughter's upper arm with his fingers, and pressed them into her flesh even more deeply, in a firm command to move - _now_.

Yet, the redhead persisted, and decided to curtsey deeply for the men, her delicate, bent head nodding to each of them, and her eyes rising to Abraxas' with some deep, unfathomable message, that Tom peeled his eyes so he could decipher.

They were like magma, her eyes, as she raised them to her cousin's eyes. They told Abraxas she was seething. She was hateful.

_Anger._

Pure anger.

And when Tom focused on the air around her, he saw that it crackled with unrefined raw magic, which seemed to come from her very aura. Her emotions seemed to be uncontrollable when linked to her magic, and Tom wondered how she might be with a wand. If this, was her, angry and her raw elemental magic as erratic as any great wizard he had met.

"Goyle, Macnair, my dear Abraxas…" she said softly, and then she righted her body, tilting her chin up to Tom, "… and of course, a pleasure to meet you, Master Riddle. May your research into potion theories and philosophies be prosperous for your future."

Dark brows raised, and a smirk graced his full mouth.

The chit was challenging him, and she was going to leave him with that challenge. The challenge to find out what exactly was wrong with that Potions theory that excited her so, and where the true philosophies of his ancestor, Salazar Slytherin could be found amongst the tomes of the Hogwarts library.

Tom Riddle smirked even more deeply, and took in this enigmatic woman with the wild hair, and the green dress and all her creamy skin and her touchable figure.

"With satisfaction, fair Miss Lajoie. With absolute satisfaction," Tom murmured, so that she and Abraxas could hear his words, and no one else.

Her onyx eyes brightened, and he knew the challenge was on.

Cepheus Lajoie gave Tom one last hard stare, then pulled on her arm, and Tom saw the indents of would-be bruises on her pale skin, and the two of them, Cepheus and Nagini Lajoie, walked into the crowds of Purebloods…

Nagini turned many heads, as Tom guessed she would, when she came to stand before a group of young men, their fathers, and who – from this distance Tom assumed to be her mother and brother, by their reddish hair and milky skin, but they were otherwise unrecognizable to him.

She was taller than her brother and with a vastly better posture, and as she stood beside him, a vivid sight of fire and velvety greens, she curtseyed in that low, daring way of hers, and she cast Tom a swift coquettish smile that was barely visible from across the room… except perhaps to him, and maybe to the pale Malfoy heir, should he be watching her too.

"She is quite something, isn't she, my cousin?" Abraxas said quietly, taking a deep, assumingly burning gulp from his whiskey tumbler. Tom knew that he had seen her smile, with those words having been said.

Goyle and Macnair nodded, eyes still locked in her direction.

"Yes," Tom agreed, blinking as a horde of elder partygoers blocked the Lajoie girl from view, "I suppose she is."

* * *

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